


Coming Back Around

by arthurmorgan-s-heart (Silverblind)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angry Sex, F/M, Female Reader, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 12:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17549993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverblind/pseuds/arthurmorgan-s-heart
Summary: In which Bill Williamson is a goddamn fool, and Arthur needs to blow off some steam.





	Coming Back Around

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request fill from my tumblr blog. Uploaded here for convenience - find me on tumblr - arthurmorgan-s-heart
> 
> Original request text: "An idea: Arthur coming back to camp after a long day, he’s not tired, he’s furious. Not at you, though, at the job he’d just done. You know what this means...he needs some sort of release 👀"

It’s almost midnight when Arthur returns to camp from a routine stagecoach robbery, but you’re still up, reading, waiting for him - he was supposed to be back hours ago, and you’d been worried. You feel relief wash over you as you put your book away and prepare to leave your shared tent to greet him, but you hold back when you hear him speak.

“You’re a goddamn fool if you think I’ll ride with you again anytime soon,” he hisses in a low voice. Arthur had never had that explosive kind of anger that so many others displayed - it was colder, quieter. But even from where you are, you can hear the rage lacing through his every word.

“Ain’t my fault they added security,” Bill’s voice is as gruff as ever. “How was I supposed to know?”

“If you’d scouted ahead like I  _ goddamn _ told you to, we wouldn’t’ve been in this mess!” Arthur’s voice slowly rises until it’s half a roar. A few cries of protest are heard around the camp at his outburst, but you doubt he cares.

“I - “ Bill starts, already almost shouting.

“Get outta my sight,” you hear Arthur snarl, and you can just imagine them standing face to face, Bill deciding whether he should back down or not - he always does.

You hear a frustrated huff, and Bill’s heavy footsteps grow louder as he passes near your tent, slowly fading out as he makes his way further into the camp. A few minutes crawl by before Arthur comes to join you, making no attempt to be quiet as he pushes the canvas aside and steps inside.

“Hey, darlin’,” he says half-heartedly - anger still boils under his every word, and he barely looks at you as he kicks off his boots, taking off his jacket and hat and throwing them unceremoniously into the trunk at the foot of the bed before he sits on the cot, taking out his revolver to clean it.

“You alright, Arthur?” you ask, seating yourself next to him. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles gruffly, keeping his eyes on his gun. “Bill Williamson is a goddamn idiot, but I’m fine.”

You know you’re not going to get more out of him, not until he calms down - luckily, you know a foolproof way to take his mind off things.

“Anythin’ I can do to help?” you say innocently as you toe off your shoes and start unbuttoning your blouse. He still doesn’t look at you, granting you nothing but a noncommittal grunt as he continues cleaning his revolver.

“Anythin’ at all?” you ask, and something in your voice must have finally gotten through to him; he looks up just as you’re undoing the last button, eyes darkening immediately at the sight of your state of undress, and the gun is quickly discarded and forgotten as he reaches for you instead, pulling you into his lap. You laugh breathily as he bends down to nip at your exposed collarbone, one hand gripping your waist while the other pulls the blouse off you.

“You always have just the thing,” he breathes as he trails his lips up your neck, kissing at the underside of your jaw before he suddenly throws you down on the bed, and you can only gasp in surprise as he kisses you, hungry and unyielding, pushing your legs apart so that he can kneel between your thighs.

His hands are under your skirt already, shoving it up to gather around your hips, every touch eager and impatient, rough fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake as he pulls your drawers down your legs, throwing them aside and leaving you bare for him. He sits back and takes a moment to look at you then, taking in every inch of your flushed skin and tousled hair, the way your chest heaves with each of your breaths - you feel sparks coursing under your skin at his heated gaze, shivering at the unspoken promises in his eyes when he bends over you again.

He kisses his way back up your legs, his teeth grazing the skin of your thighs before his mouth comes to hover a few inches away from your core - but he moves on, and you whine in protest. He kisses your ribs, the underside of one breast, his tongue teasing your nipple for half a moment before he finally moves up to meet your lips for another kiss, groaning when he feels you start to unbutton his shirt, slipping the buttons free one by one. He parts from you, meeting your eyes as his hand reaches down to brush against the inside of your thigh, and you spread your legs wider, giving him a pleading look as your hands bunch into his half-open shirt. He leans down to kiss your neck, his hand lingering on your thigh for what seems to be hours before he finally touches you where you want him most, and you let out a moan - louder than it should be, considering you’re in camp, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Ain’t you an eager little thing,” he whispers, easily pushing a finger inside you, then two, his thumb pressing at your center - but not fast or hard enough to bring you over the edge, your pleasure hovering just out of reach as you writhe under his touch.

“Arthur…” you breathe, almost desperate as he presses his lips to your shoulder, torturously drawing moan after moan from you. “ _ Please _ …”

You open your mouth to speak again when he takes his hand from you, but he silences you with a kiss before he sits up, moving until he’s kneeling over you, a knee on either side of your waist as he looks down at you with heavy-lidded eyes. You can see him straining against the front of his trousers.

“You want it?” he asks, his voice nothing but a low rumble. You throat is too dry for you to manage a single word, but your nod seems to be enough. “You know what to do, then.”

You keep your eyes on his as you reach out to unbuckle his belt, the motion so familiar that you don’t even need to look, before you move on to the buttons. There are only three of them, and yet you take your time, basking in the heat of his gaze -  _ one.... two.. _ . 

“Woman…” he growls warningly, his voice washing over you in a warm wave.

You hum innocently as you press your palm against him, stroking the long line of heat firmly, and he hisses as his hips buck forward, his hands suddenly coming up to catch both of your wrists and bring them down on the bed next to your head, the grip just tight enough to sting.

“Ain’t in the mood for games,” he breathes, bending over you to nip at your lips before he moves off you, kneeling between your thighs again as he finishes what you’d started, freeing himself. You watch as he takes himself in one hand while the other comes to rest high on your thigh, his thumb brushing against your core, tantalizingly close. He strokes himself once, twice, pressing himself against you and pausing for a moment, just long enough for you to grow restless, before he pushes forward. You can’t help a loud moan at the feeling of him inside you, and his hand presses against your mouth almost immediately, silencing you.

“Much as I’d love to hear that,” he says as you meet his eyes, straining to hold himself still, “don’t think I’d like to have Mrs. Grimshaw barge in here. So be a good girl, and be  _ quiet _ .”

You nod slowly, and he removes his hand from your mouth before hooking his hands beneath both of your knees, thrusting deep. A groan claws its way out of your throat, but you muffle it, lips pressed together tightly as you throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut. Arthur’s rhythm is rough and fast, focused on nothing but release - you feel your own building inside you already, gathering in your core, your stomach, your chest, setting every inch of you ablaze. 

“Arthur - “ despite your efforts, the call is loud, urgent. You open your eyes to look at him as your hand shoots up to clap over your own mouth, just as he had done a moment ago. He smiles at the sight.

“Good girl,” he says, giving a particularly hard thrust, and you moan against your palm. “Doing what you’re told. That’s a good girl.”

His hand slides down your thigh to find your center, not quite touching, and you arch toward him in a vain effort to get him to close the last few inches, your free hand reaching forward  to grip his forearm in a silent plea.

“You think you deserve that?” he asks as he slows his motion, until he’s simply rocking against you, deep and slow. “Think you’ve earned it?”

You nod frantically, hand still pressed against your mouth - as much as you want to allow yourself to speak - to  _ beg  _ -, you know you won’t be able to stay quiet if you do.

“Yeah,” he growls before he thrusts into you again, as hard and fast as before, his fingers finally coming to rub tight circles at your center, the groan that escapes your throat so loud that you’re sure the whole camp heard it, despite your best efforts - Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, or he’s too far gone to care. “Yeah, I think you have.”

You fall apart easily in his hands - you always have. He rips your hand from your mouth when he feels you tighten around him, and you moan into his mouth as he kisses you, hard and long, before pressing his forehead to yours as his thrusts become erratic. The hand he had between your legs shifts under you, splaying over the small of your back to pull you as close to him as possible, and you throw your arms around his neck, meeting his lips for another fevered kiss. He parts from you when he comes undone, a long, low growl rumbling up from deep within his chest as he rolls his hips into yours a few more times before he finally stills. You’re both silent for a moment, catching your breath, before he kisses your cheek softly, chastely, letting himself fall down on the bed next to you. You smile when he moves to lay his head on your chest, your hand reaching down to run your fingers through his hair.

“How you feelin’?” you ask after a while, and he presses a kiss just under your collarbone before he looks up at you, smiling softly.

“Never better, darlin’.”

  
  



End file.
